The Evolution of Sport
by Earendil Eldar
Summary: During the annual games at Eregion, the Dwarves debut a new sport they've been developing. Erestor has some ideas for improving it.


Celebrimbor and Erestor sat with their chairs pushed together, leaning against one another. It was quite a bit more casual than it ordinarily would be in the dining hall, but then, supper had long since concluded and it was just the two of them and their guest, relaxing and chatting. None of them felt much like getting up and moving to another venue, so they stayed behind when the rest of their dining companions relocated to other halls or their private quarters.

"You'll be staying for the games, I trust?" Celebrimbor said, idly weaving his fingers together with Erestor's, a display of intimacy Erestor would normally never permit in a public room – but the wine served with supper had been very easy to imbibe….

"Oh, of course! Wouldn't miss it!" Narvi said, leaning back in his chair across from the Elves, pipe-bowl in one hand, tankard in the other, and his feet propped up on the table. That, too, would usually have garnered even their esteemed guest at least a subtle glance of disapproval from Erestor, were he not feeling so affable.

"The Mírdain may actually lose this year," Erestor smirked.

"What, have the loremasters and scribes put forth a team?" Narvi teased.

"Such pursuits are not for such as us," Erestor said with a lofty, dismissive, slightly loose wave.

Celebrimbor rolled his eyes at his lover. "He's agreed to strategise for the hunters," Celebrimbor explained, taking off his circlet and setting it around his wine goblet. "He's of the opinion that, somehow, strategy is going to overcome superiority of talent."

Narvi just chuckled deeply. "Oh-ho! Then I'm laying my wagers this very night!"

"Don't put good coin after bad," Celebrimbor advised confidently. "There's only one wise wager to make."

"Their loss shall sting them like stray sparks from their forges," Erestor intoned gravely.

"Our sparks do _not_ go astray," Celebrimbor insisted. "Unlike the hunter's arrows!"

Erestor just yawned delicately.

"Never met the Elf that couldn't turn _anything_ into a competition," Narvi snickered. "Do you know, we've been working at a new game down in the mountain," Narvi said. "It's not all so different from the football, but a bit more suited to a build more… bulk than lithe. Not nearly so much of the running about."

"Not so much running?" Celebrimbor said. "What, then, do you do?"

"Well, there's rather more carrying. And charging. Imagine it like this – you've just stolen a great precious stone, and you and your fellows must try to get it passed your opposition, who, of course, are trying to stop you and recover it for themselves."

"That sounds rather fascinating," Erestor said. "How did you come upon the idea?"

"Ah, well, it all started when someone fell on the football and… squashed it, just a bit. It didn't roll very well anymore. So we decided to try carrying it. Much more accommodating than all that running along, kicking the thing."

Celebrimbor laughed. "Well, I should like to see this new entertainment some time!"

"Why not during the games?" Erestor said to Narvi. "Do you think your players would be amenable to giving us an exhibition then?"

"Aye, I'm sure they'd love it! I'll speak to them about it this night. Whiles I'm laying my wagers."

* * *

Several days later, during a break in the annual Eregion tournament, the Dwarves of Khazad-dûm took the field to demonstrate their new pastime. It was a popular diversion among the spectators, watching their Dwarven allies grasp and fight and tackle for a ball that looked more like something thieved from an eyrie.

Erestor, however, was watching keenly and saw the potential for this game to be more than an amusing sideshow. He quickly took out his notes for that afternoon's match between the Mírdain and Eregion's bowmen and starting scribbling down ideas.

"Don't even think of having your hunters carry the ball or attempt to grapple against one of my men," Celebrimbor laughed, leaning over to kiss Erestor's cheek. "I'm going to change for the match. Not too late for forfeit, you know?"

Erestor swatted distractedly at his lover's face as if he was a buzzing fly. "Go away. Your defeat is well in hand. And then I have some new ideas."

"So you say. Fair enough, we'll give you your game," Celebrimbor grinned, heading off to join his teammates.

Erestor gathered up his notes and made his way to the other side of the pitch where the archers were also preparing for the chief match of the tournament. On his way across, he passed Narvi and his side departing the field after their victory.

"I like it well, Master Dwarf! And I've some ideas," Erestor said, waving his notes with a bright smile. "Let us talk more during tonight's feast, just now I've got to see my men ready to hammer down Celeb's Mírdain."

Narvi laughed. "I hope they do, I've got a year's worth of brown ale riding on it!"

* * *

That night at the post-games feast, the Lord of Eregion sat half-sulking, half-bemused. Every so often, he glanced to his lover at his right and shook his head. And how many times during the feast had someone come up to Erestor to shake his hand and ask how he'd managed it?

"I simply instructed them to treat the Mírdain as trees in the forest during pursuit of some swift quarry," Erestor shrugged, always with the same fast, weaving hand gesture that mirrored exactly the way the archers had run circles around the Mírdain throughout the entire match. "You see, smiths are strong and muscle-bound, where my hunters are agile and fleet," Erestor would add with a sage smile.

"A year's brown ale for a wise wager!" Narvi crowed from Celebrimbor's other side each time.

"Thoroughly betrayed by those closest to me," Celebrimbor muttered with a shake of his head.

"What about these ideas about our new sport?" Narvi said, leaning across to Erestor as the feast began winding down.

"Oh, yes! I'd nearly forgotten in the excitement," Erestor said, leaning forward. "As I said, I quite liked what you showed us and I think it has potential to develop even more. What I'm thinking is that there's one element missing…."

Narvi leaned back a bit in his chair as Celebrimbor slumped forward, propping his chin on his hand as if quite bored with this cross-talk. "Let me guess…," Narvi drawled. "Elves."

"Precisely!" Erestor nodded. "Now, before you think I mean we should steal this sport, what I'm thinking of will only work if the teams are made up of both Dwarves _and_ Elves. It would be a perfect symbol of our long alliance!" Erestor pulled out the notes he'd made earlier that day and pulled his chair around behind Celebrimbor to show them to Narvi. "See here, you've already got the idea – I noted that your younger, quicker members were the ones to stay back, to do the catching and dashing ahead once the ball had been freed from this… knot… this…."

"Scrum," Narvi supplied.

"Yes. So, you see, if we had a few of our Elves back there, doing the quick work, while you've got your Dwarves up front, entrenching, forming the lines…. And this bit, where one throws it in and some of your fellows hoist another up to fetch it down. Well, have a couple of the Elven positions leap to contest for it, eh? As for the kicking, well either of our people would do for that."

Narvi looked over and considered Erestor's notes. "You know… I think you may have something here. What say we try out your ideas? I'll propose it to my lads and you see if you can get a few of your Elf-boys interested. Uh… we'll want those hunters of yours, incidentally. We won't be needing the smiths…."

Celebrimbor just groaned and thumped his head down upon the table before looking up and calling, "More wine here, please!"


End file.
